In a scoped-out cinematic landscape, 2023’s most distinct contribution—amid a post-pandemic order of things where audiences stepped out and into theatres in large numbers—would be in making visible a wanton shift to films nearing the 180-minute mark. While the runtime may be warranted by the subject matter of some films, some of it may equally be attributed to a director’s penchant for glacial storytelling in dramatic, painstaking detail. In the case of what was arguably among last year’s most significant releases, Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon, both stand true. It is a vision of unwavering cinematic commitment, intent on telling a tale of human greed and one of the most grave injustices to civilisation to ever occur. While the runtime may prove taxing, it is more than warranted in Scorsese’s retelling of the actual events of the Oklahoma Osage murders after oil was discovered on their tribal land. In a faithful recreation of such scale and scope, the first intimation of a grounding and believability would occur in the world the film and its characters inhabit, and Jack Fisk, part of Hollywood legend by all means, lends thoughtful solemnity and what I am terming a spatial gravitas to Scorsese’ historical epic Western.

In what is surprisingly their first collaboration, despite being a couple of all-time greats themselves, Fisk and Scorsese’s was a collaboration waiting to happen, nonetheless. The nature of the project and the size of its undertaking beneath Scorsese’s wing needed someone with decades of experience, and the kind of full-bodied, complete work on screen—in an architectural sense and otherwise—that Fisk brought. His credits as a production designer include films that are not only essential to American history and its perception but are also classics in their own right, counting among the best stories put to film. Chief among them is Paul Thomas Anderson’s There Will be Blood, which also apparently served as a close source of inspiration for this world owing to several thematic and periodic similarities, for which Fisk earned his first Oscar nomination, followed by The Revenant.In a list of frequent collaborators that includes names like David Lynch, Terrence Mallick, and PTA, a story that is quintessentially American but often glossed over in American history is right at home. The similarities are nearly instantaneously visible in several establishments that have both captured and been a significant part of the nation’s imagination, including the saloons, pool halls, prairie houses in timber, meat shops, and the like. The rather definitive shot of an armada of Ford cars racing down a dirt street occupied by shops on both sides is particularly reminiscent. Even the more stylistic details, including backlit shots and richly patterned, darker walls, all carry over to Scorsese’s tale of America.

Unlike the inception of completely new worlds in fantasy and science fiction in cinema, inspired from a forlorn historicity, films focusing on actual history have a different yardstick for their perceived success. Factors like authenticity, age, weathering, rawness, rustique, and the virtue of being grounded come into account. The world of Killers of the Flower Moon similarly doesn’t seem to—or rather vehemently refuses to—stand out, and rather inconspicuously stays with, habituates, even empowers and lends cues to its characters and the distressing proceedings they find themselves to be a part of. This is much in keeping with Fisk’s philosophy of constructing “360-degree sets”, or sets that are complete buildings that allow acclimatisation, and come as close as they physically can to inhabiting characters and filmmakers within their structural confines. Building as early into production as possible to allow the possibility of natural weathering on surfaces—a patina of additional authenticity if you may—is also something Fisk prescribes to.

The single most definitive aspect of the sets and production design —and that could also be said of the film and its story—was the representation of the Osage. The very ethos of the storytelling with Martin Scorsese, according to Fisk, was to bring into light the suffering and injustices dealt to the indigenous people of the land in complete honesty. It was to tell a story that still isn’t canonical to American history, in ways that say the Tulsa Massacre is, despite being merely miles away from the Osage settlement and occurring nearly concurrently. “Indigenous people are often given the shorthand in telling their own story," Fisk lamented during the interview. It’s a thin line to tread, but it does cast a net of responsibility over popular media and representation. Killers of the Flower Moon then brings into question themes of nativity, culture, settler colonialism, modernism, capital greed, and white supremacy, and it truly is an achievement considering how much of these are relayed simply through design.

While a significant portion of research on a faithful recreation of Fairfax reservation and the town of Gray Horse where Molly and her family lived came from David Grann’s eponymous book, what Fisk and his team followed was just shy of an archaeological process, involving visiting the original locations of these people’s homes, and uncovering wares, artefacts, and possessions from close to a century ago now. “The Osage were lovers of art,” states Fisk, reminiscing on some of the objects he uncovered during his recces in Oklahoma. Unsurprisingly, those ended up becoming a window into understanding the lives of the Osage people—something Fisk terms was akin to walking with the ghosts of the Osage along the streets of Fairfax. Interestingly, Fisk’s first visit to the Oklahoma countryside was laden with disappointment in finding out how most of the residences looked extremely similar and were all coloured white—an unsubtle jibe on the perpetrators—and further affirmation of the hypothesis of the project of modernity abandoning colour and moving towards the monotony of repetition and templatisation. Modern was white, and colour was primitive, even savage and uncouth. Craft and colour then were bona fide tools of resilience and pushback against both the unilateral project of modernisation and the usurping of indigenous land and displacement of natives. “Our team worked to try and get colour back in those houses,” stated Fisk in his attempt to imbue that futile resistance in the spaces he created. Paintings, sculptures, China crockery, apparel, and especially the blankets adorned by Molly, were similarly replete in colour, almost like muted rebellions within themselves, even as the wolves circled. “It felt like we were resuscitating the Osage,” stated Fisk, hopeful, towards the closing of his insightful recounting of the film’s world.

Watch the full interview for more details on the production design of the culturally significant film, in the running for 10 Oscars this year.

Also read, STIR’s coverage of the best of production design from 2023: 'Everything Everywhere All at Once' and its many worlds with Jason Kisvarday
Dylan Cole and Ben Procter on designing the world of 'Avatar: The Way of Water'

In case you missed: Mise-en-scène with STIR—enticing conversations with four of 2022's Oscar-nominated production designers.